


Behind the Mask

by nightfalltwen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Costume Parties & Masquerades, F/M, Infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-24 04:42:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10734336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightfalltwen/pseuds/nightfalltwen
Summary: It's one night a year.  No more.  No less.  And neither of them apologise for it because they're behind masks and other people.





	Behind the Mask

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the **2012 Samhain_Smut** prompt fest using the prompt: #103 - _When they wear their masks, they are someone else, so they pretend it's not wrong._ Special thanks to **cryptaknight** who did the beta back when it was first posted.

_Hallowe'en 2010_

"I've brought the seed pearls for your hair, ma'am , unless you'd like something else," Tess said, setting the little box of pearls on the vanity and opened it. 

Pansy looked over at the woman standing behind her, younger than her, blonde, pretty in that squib sort of way. Still, very much human. She was still not used to the lack of a house elf. Blaise thought it progressive, but she felt it was entirely too intrusive. Human servants had far too many opinions. They also had the unfortunate habit of becoming pregnant. This was her third lady's maid in as many years. Pansy stopped learning their names and insisted on calling them all Tess. Mostly she ignored them. This Tess had an odd mole on the side of her neck. Hopefully that would keep Blaise's cock in his trousers for a bit of time at least.

Breaking in a new Tess was more work than what it was worth.

"No pearls," Pansy said, reaching for her lipstick and daubing a small bit on her lower lip which she then rubbed with her pinky finger.. "I'm leaving my hair loose. Just fetch me the mask."

Behind her the ornate grandfather clock began to chime half-seven. Downstairs would be a swirling mass of costumes and masks. Pansy did not enjoy preparing for the Zabini's annual Hallowe'en masque. It meant putting on a public face that she did not truly feel. It meant smiling and pretending that she was happy in her marriage to her husband. There was only one reason she was sitting there in the elaborate peacock dress with its sweeping gown of feathers.

And it certainly wasn't to watch her husband make eyes at anything with cleavage.

Shooing away Tess' hands, Pansy placed the mask over her eyes and tied the deep blue ribbon herself, arranging the longer feathers attached to the side elaborately over her ear. Then she left Tess to clean up the dressing table, ribbons and whatnot. Pansy spared the other woman no second glance or thank you. 

She didn't make friends with the help.

Walking down the corridor, Pansy glanced at the paintings. Lush landscapes decorated the walls. None of them magical. None of them Parkinson. She had offered to bring some family portraits from her estate to hang amongst the abundance of Zabini wealth, but it had been declined. Not that she didn't _like_ the art; it was beautiful and worth a lot of money, but she missed the comfort of her grand-mama's portrait.

Wilhelmina Rosier had always had the best advice.

"I thought you were wearing your hair up." Blaise's silky voice drew Pansy out of thoughts of her family and she looked at the arm that her hand was now tucked around. She hadn't even noticed him moving to stand beside her.

"I considered it," she said crisply, brandishing a false smile to the crowd at the bottom of the wide staircase as she descended. At breakfast she'd listened to him state his preferences for how he'd wanted her to appear. Pansy had nodded and 'hmm'd' her way through the conversation. "But I like it loose. I think it suits the costume."

Besides, there were so many better reasons to not have a head full of hairpins, she thought to herself.

At the bottom of the stairs, Blaise pressed a dry kiss to her knuckles and made his _official_ party opening speech. Pansy smiled demurely and ignored the words her husband spoke, her eyes darting about the crowd. Party goers were not completely unrecognisable. Draco didn't bother to disguise his blond hair anymore. She couldn't help but frown at Astoria in a froth of pink and frilly pantaloons, the long shepherd's crook easily spotted above the heads of the crowd. Bo-Peep again. How on earth she convinced Draco to don that ridiculous sheep's tail year after year, Pansy would never know. Long ago she'd realised and decided that marriage had, most certainly, cut the bollocks off her oldest friend.

"Isn't the peacock the male of the species?" A voice spoke behind her, causing a shiver to run down the entire length of Pansy's spine.

"Peahens have no colour," she replied, lifting her chin. "I couldn't very well come down here with something drab."

"No, I suppose you couldn't," he said.

Pansy looked over her shoulder. A wave of memories crashed over her, breaking against the wall she cleverly put up to protect her from things such as feelings. Want. Need. Desire. It never failed to surprise her how the memories of the beginning came rushing back when she looked up into his eyes.

An affair was dangerous enough. An affair with Harry Potter, even if it was only one night a year, easily spelled catastrophe.

And yet she couldn't stop.

***

_Hallowe'en 2001_

"So was this all just one big joke to you?" she asked sharply, dragging him by his frilly pirate's shirt into the study just off the grand ballroom. "Oh ha ha, let's show up, uninvited, and scoff at those who came out on the wrong side of the war as they try to re-establish their lives? Is that it?"

Her skirts were heavy and brocade. She'd gone for a Tudor sort of look, trying to be the elegant wife befitting a Zabini. Her mask was small and lace, a strip of fabric that just barely covered her eyes. It meant she could easily scowl without having to take it off. Oh how she wanted to slap the man standing across from her. None of the followers of Harry Potter had been invited to this event. How Harry Potter _himself_ came to be in attendance, Pansy didn't know.

But it had been obvious.

She'd danced with him once and knew it instantly. He had no skill in moving about the floor and his costume was a low quality. When she'd observed him initially, she'd thought he was a lowly office peon who'd managed to crash, but up close... He'd not even bothered to disguise his shockingly green eyes. And with her six month old marriage to Blaise already showing strains, the man couldn't keep his hands off the help, she knew that she would be blamed if this came to light.

"That isn't why I came," Potter said, lifting his hand to remove the simple black mask from his face.

"Leave it," she snapped. "If someone comes in here, I'd rather they not see that it's you."

"Look," Potter leaned against the desk. "Your husband is in a lot of trouble. The Ministry is digging around in his finances to see if there is money being funneled into the accounts of the darker wizards that we still haven't caught yet. I'm not here to make fun of you. I'm here to see if it's true."

"So you can arrest him at a public function and disgrace us all?" Pansy lifted her chin. "Is this some sort of retribution against me? Because I wanted to give you up at the school? I'm sorry, I really am... but you don't know what that school was like that year. You don't know how awful it was, even for Slytherins. I was a terrified girl and I wanted it _over_... I panicked and I didn't--"

"That's the first time, in three and a half years, I've heard those words," Potter said, glancing at her.

"What? You've never had someone tell you the truth about Hogwarts that year?"

"No. That they were sorry."

Pansy went silent. She knew all too well how nearly all her Slytherin friends turned recluse after the war. Vince was dead, Greg had left the country. Millicent rarely came for tea. The only girl from her year she saw was Tracey Davis, who was in a quiet, yet happy, relationship with her long term boyfriend Theodore. Draco kept his head held high, but said nothing. She knew his wounds had been as deep as anyone's and she knew that his pride was suffering. Holding onto their pride was the only thing Slytherins seemed to have left. 

She folded her arms over her chest, cursing the fact that she'd allowed Potter to see her even remotely vulnerable.

"Are you happy?" he asked.

Her eyes snapped up and she frowned. "How dare you ask that! My marriage to Blaise is wonderful and I've never dreamt of anything else. We have our moments, but it was the best match for me. I am happy with my husband and it is none of your business to inquire otherwise, Harry Potter."

He gave her a curious look, his eyebrows knitting together and partially hidden by the mask on his face. "I meant with the wizarding world in general."

"Well that is none of your business either," she said with a scowl.

"Isn't it? You don't look very happy."

"Is it really a surprise?" she asked incredulously. "This is the one night a year we really get to pretend like nothing is different, that we are how we used to be before the war. It's the one moment we get to socialise like purebloods without anyone looking down their noses at us. The Wizengamot came down hard on us and _no one_ from the side of the great Harry Potter dared to even care. My father. My father wasn't even a death eater and he lost everything." 

Her heart was pounding now. So often she kept this all inside. Never let them see you waver, her mother had always said. Damn him. She wanted to slap the silly concerned expression off his face. Pansy swiped at her eyes helplessly, the small fabric mask getting in the way. She didn't know what was worse. The humiliation of ranting in front of Harry Potter or the fact that he was seeing her cry.

"We're trying to rebuild," she said finally. "Just as you are."

He touched her cheek then. It lasted only a few seconds and she hadn't even seen that he'd had a handkerchief until it was wiping softly at the side of her face. She didn't understand the tenderness, not one bit. But the look in his eyes seemed genuine and it didn't make sense to her. It was too strange. It was _Harry Potter_.

"I'm married," she blurted out, the first defensive thing that came to mind.

"I have a girlfriend," he answered, stuffing the handkerchief back into his pocket.

From a place inside his long jacket, Potter took out a piece of cloth and shook it out. Pansy's mouth opened in an 'o' of surprise. She'd heard tales from Draco of an invisibility cloak, but she'd never actually seen it. So to speak. It looked as though Potter was leaving and was doing it in a way that would keep his attendance a secret. Just as he started to cover himself up, the door began to open. Pansy whirled about and put her hands on her hips ready to scold whatever guest had decided to explore.

But it wasn't a guest. It was her husband.

Pansy watched as, with his back to her, Blaise tugged a twittering woman dressed as some manner of saucy French maid (really? how common!) into the room. She felt her face go white hot and watched, mouth hanging open, as her husband pressed his lips against the neck of the masked woman. She'd known, somehow she'd always known, that Blaise would be the type to stray when she married him. She just didn't expect it to be so public. Not when all their friends were only yards away.

"Really?" she said, coldly, glancing over her shoulder once. Potter was nowhere to be seen but she could _feel_ that he was still there. Blaise and the young woman stopped short and at least she had the good sense to look embarrassed or ashamed. Blaise, on the other hand, looked almost bored.

But he'd always been so very good at looking bored.

"We have _guests_ , Blaise. People who are watching our every move and you couldn't keep it in your trousers until the dancing was over?" Pansy's cheeks were white hot. Humiliation wasn't even close to describing how she felt at that moment. But her voice stayed low and chilly. If looks could cause harm, Blaise would quite possibly have been eviscerated in front of her. "For heaven's sake. You couldn't even take it," she gestured to the woman, "upstairs?"

"Hey..." The woman, blonde, started to protest.

"Out." Pansy pointed a stiff finger at the door. "I want _that_ out of my house right now!"

He didn't answer her. He didn't offer some kind of excuse or apology. He merely took the woman by the arm and turned her, protesting about being called 'it' and 'that', toward the door. As the heavy wood thumped shut, Pansy pressed the heels of both hands to her face, trying to will away the colour she knew was no doubt on her face. She felt fingers touch her shoulder and she stiffened, but didn't drop her hands.

"Just... Not now, Potter."

"Here," he said. "I've got an idea."

She felt a whisper of fabric surround her. Pansy dropped her hands and blinked. It was like peering through a tulle veil and yet it almost wasn't. On the adjacent wall was a mirror and when she looked over at it, she saw nothing. Being under an invisibility cloak was different from anything she'd ever experienced. And it hid everything, even her voluminous skirts. She became aware, however, that she wasn't alone and turned slightly. Potter stood very close behind her and was holding up the cloak so it stayed in one place. He looked a little awkward, hunched over like that.

"We'll I'm not going to let you walk off with my dad's invisibility cloak," he said in response to her unanswered question. "But my being here... well I feel responsible that you had to deal with what just happened. It's the least I could do."

"Never could stop rescuing damsels in distress?" she asked.

She felt him exhale a quiet laugh on the back of her neck. "Something like that."

They moved along the wall, slipping past guests who were talking amongst themselves. Three times Pansy stopped to listen to the gossip, she couldn't help herself, and felt him bump up against her back. The first time he stepped on the heel of her shoe and caused her to gasp in surprise, which in turn had caused the guest dressed as a grandfather clock to turn and look about. She was careful to keep her feet out of the way of his the next couple of times.

It was extraordinary, though. She wondered if this was how he caught all his targets. 

Once they were out of the ballroom and up the stairs, Pansy pushed aside the invisibility cloak and stepped away from him. They were just outside her bedroom. A room Blaise occasionally visited but was mostly just hers. She turned slightly, her skirts making a swishing sound as she moved and peered at Potter for a long moment as he folded the cloak over his hands until it was small enough to be hidden away again in his jacket pocket. She didn't understand this kindness he was displaying toward her. She was touched, there was no getting around that. He could have mocked her for the marriage she'd tried to defend which was anything but happy. He could have done a great many things to humiliate her.

But all he'd done was offer her a handkerchief and then a way to save face.

"Thank you," she said, stepping close, her hand lightly resting against his chest and standing on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips.

She meant it to be just that. She didn't even know why she'd done it, just that she wanted to show that she could be soft and thankful and nice to the one person who probably thought her the most awful woman in England. That's all she'd meant it to be. Just a little thankful kiss. Step close, kiss, step away. As easy as that. Except it wasn't, as most things, as easy as all that.

Before she realised what was happening, his hand came to the back of her neck and he held onto the kiss longer than she had prepared herself for. It changed. His mouth moved across hers and he returned the kiss that she'd initiated. The blood in her body did a strange sort of whoosh, pooling in her stomach first then thundering around her ears before sinking to her toes. Pansy felt her knees go a bit jelly-like and she curled her fingers into the front of his shirt, a little sound escaping from her throat.

"You're married," he pointed out, drawing back slightly.

"You have a girlfriend," she whispered, her eyes closed and her fingers not letting go of his shirt.

"I do," he replied slowly. "We're kind of on the outs right now."

There was a moment, a very brief one, while they stood there looking at each other. It was the sort of moment where they could easily walk away and never speak of the kiss. It was a moment where the world gave them a way out. Pansy could have straightened her skirts, smoothed her hair and taken a deep breath. Potter could have dropped his hands from her waist and the back of her neck.

Instead, however, his mouth came crashing against hers and her arms flung about his neck.

So much for moments.

Pansy would have never guessed her evening would come to this. Whatever she had thought of Potter before, however much she had mocked him in school and hated how he could get out of trouble so easily, it all seemed to vanish. Good lord, he was a fantastic kisser. Just the right amount of open mouth and teeth scraping. None of that instant invading tongue that most men seemed to think was the proper way to kiss. Draco had been so dreadful at first. But this. This took her breath away, so much so that she was gasping for air and completely dizzy.

Reaching out behind her, she fumbled to grab onto the doorknob of her room. With a twist, the door started to swing open. Pansy kicked back with a foot and pushed it open a bit wider. She tore herself away with great effort, looking up at him. Her chest rose and fell with deep breaths and if her cheeks were anything like his, she suspected her face to be quite red.

"This is where you can walk away," she said, taking a step backwards into her room, licking her lips. "A few kisses can be forgotten and we can go back to whatever it was we were involved with before." Though she wasn't sure if she truly believed that. "But step across this threshold and we're crossing into... a lot more."

"What if it's just one night?" he said, leaning forward and supporting his weight on his hands against her door frame. His green eyes glinted behind the mask. "Only one night."

Pansy thought about it. Briefly. "That I can manage," she said, reaching forward and seizing him by the front of his shirt to tug him into her room.

She pushed the door shut and grabbing her wand sitting on the little table next to it, she cast a strong Imperturbable Charm on the wood. Surprisingly not the first time she'd done so. A philanderer her husband might be, but he was not a bad lover. She perhaps didn't invite him to her bed as often as a married woman should, certainly not often enough to ensure that a baby would be on the way (though she did know the whole aspect of it only taking one time) But the servants really didn't need to know that their mistress was a screamer. 

For the second time that night, Potter went to remove his mask. Pansy interrupted him and asked him to leave it, her hands making short, quick work of the buttons of his shirt. She felt his fingers move to the front of her tight gown and then slide around her waist to the back, hesitation at the complicated laces clearly evident. 

"Too complicated for the Great Harry Potter?" she asked with a teasing voice, kissing his bared shoulder and running her fingers along the muscles of his abdomen.

Potter grabbed her wrist and took a step back. His jacket had ended up on the floor. Holding a finger up to make her pause, he reached for the discarded clothing and found his wand. Then with a smile he cast a spell at her. At once Pansy felt all the seams along the shoulders, torso and waist of her dress split and the entire thing started slipping to the floor.

"Dirty cheat," she accused with a smile.

"Impatient wizard," he replied and tossed his wand to the side.

Pansy wasted no time and stepped away from the fabric, pressing the entire length of herself against him. Her forearms rested on his shoulders and her fingers tangled in his messy black hair. How no one had figured out that he'd been downstairs, she didn't know. She also didn't care because he was upstairs now, he was shrugging off his shirt and then his hands were skirting over her bare skin as she pressed kisses to his jaw.

When his hands cupped her breasts, Pansy sighed. When his fingertips started to flick over her hardening nipples, she gasped. He kissed her forehead and then both cheeks, his lips touching the lacy fabric that was still across her face. It was gentle. It made her shiver with delight. It made her feel things.

It was so dangerous.

"Don't," she said after a moment, regaining her thoughts. She dropped her arms from his shoulders, her fingers dancing along the waist of his trousers. She made short work of the buttons and zip before looking up at him and plunging her hand down the front. Her fingers curled around the length of his erection and she began to stroke. "Don't be tender. This shouldn't be tender and sweet."

A strangled sort of noise came from inside him and before she realised what was happening they were both on the bed, naked, a tangle of legs and arms and her lips being bruised by his. This time she was happy to let him ravage her mouth, their tongues tumbling over one another. This was easier for her to deal with, this was passion and desire and had nothing to do with her heart. Not that she had any intention on giving her heart to Harry Potter, masked or not.

His rough hand skirted over her hip and along her thigh before sweeping back up between her legs. With a sigh, Pansy let her knees fall to the side. She was already wet and hot and she couldn't help but moan when his fingertips slid over her flesh back and forth until they took the chance and plunged into her.

There was that one night, years ago, when she was newly sixteen and being ignored by Draco. Her imagination had conjured the same fingers that were touching her now. Of course, never once did Pansy Parkinson, queen bee of Slytherin, admit to anyone that she thought Harry Potter was fit. But she'd imagined it all the same. She'd imagined his trim waist and his fingers. She'd imagined they were rough and so unlike her own small, smooth fingertips. She'd imagined so vividly that she'd almost given herself away with her rocking movements and bucking hips. 

She'd come so hard.

This was nothing like her imagination. It was better. His fingers started to slide in and out of her and they twisted slightly and somewhere in amongst the movement she felt his thumb press against her clit, rubbing back and forth. A delicious shudder went through her whole body and Pansy felt her fingers clasp at his upper arms, her fingernails leaving little marks in his skin.

All at once she gave a surprising shove and pushed him back. He rolled easily to the side and Pansy scrambled to climb atop him. She looked down at his masked face and reached out to draw a line across his lip with her finger. 

"I'm not happy," she admitted quietly, bending over to press her mouth to the center of his chest. She shifted slightly, the movements of her hips causing him to groan. Pansy bit his nipple gently. "Blaise was a last resort and I doubt we will ever be truly content with one another."

"I can't make you happy," Potter said, his fingers tangling in her hair.

"No. I don't suppose you can."

Pansy considered stopping right there. As tight as she was wound, she considered stopping and calling this off. But she found she couldn't quite bring herself to do that. Instead she reached down between their bodies and slid her fingers over his cock. He was hard and she was so very achingly ready and with one quick movement she sank down, feeling him slide into her. It was different than Blaise. Whereas Blaise was long, Potter was thick and she felt herself arch her back as she settled against him.

The world started spinning as she began to move, pushing herself up with her thighs and then rocking back down against him. It reminded her of posting in a saddle and she felt herself smile because horseback riding was never as delicious as this. She could hear his laboured breathing with every movement and her own gasps echoed the sounds he was making.

His hands slid over her hips and up to her waist, moving higher to cup her breasts. Pansy leaned into them, enjoying how easily she fit into his palms. Her own fingers wandered as she rocked against him. They touched his chest, his stomach, danced over his collar bone. Then they were touching herself, rubbing back and forth over her sensitive flesh. Pansy moaned. Though she couldn't tell if she was moaning his name or not.

She hated to compare, but she did it anyway. Blaise didn't often give her free reign like this. Not that it was unsatisfying being with her husband, but being in control of Potter was immensely exhilarating.

Soon his hands were moving back down, away from her breasts. Pansy stopped with her fingertips and reached back, bracing herself against his thighs as she leaned back, pushing down against his hips that had begun to push up hard against her. The pressure inside her was mounting and all she could do was grip his legs tighter and push down harder, then she felt his thumb flick across her clit and, with a keening wail, she was undone.

***

_Hallowe'en 2010_

Pansy didn't remember much of the rest of that first evening, or how he got home.

But it was the beginning of what had become a yearly event.

Hallowe'en and masked balls saw them through the years. It was their one misstep in the year and they never spoke of it outside of that one night.

He was different now. A little more schooled in how to hide his appearance. She supposed she was different as well, handling her husband's endless string of affairs more easily than another wife would have. Hallowe'en was not an evening to dread but one to look forward to. It made her smile. 

"Is my husband under scrutiny again from the Ministry?" she asked as she took Potter's hand and was led out onto the dance floor. The music swelled and the crowd began to move about with the pair of them included. Dancing was another subject in which he'd improved.

"He always is," Potter said, a fingertip lightly brushing along the top seam of the back of her dress, touching bare skin.

They played this game for a few songs, dancing around the room, masks firmly in place. Then there would come a moment where they could both slip off. He always brought his invisibility cloak. She always gave him the chance to leave. He always said it would just be one night. Maybe this would be the last night.

She always screamed at the end.

Potter had never promised her happiness and Pansy dared not tell him that he'd given it to her anyway.


End file.
